Even the Old Die Young
by lost-in-elysium
Summary: Daniel says goodbye to Mr. Miyagi for the last time. Mild profanity. Major character death. One-shot. REVISED.


**Even the Old Die Young**

 **A Karate Kid Fanfiction**

 **Summary** : Daniel says goodbye to Mr. Miyagi for the last time. Mild profanity. Major character death. One-shot.

 **/!\ Warning** : Mild profanity. Major character death.

 **Disclaimer** : We own nothing! Apologies in advance for any spelling/grammatical errors we didn't catch.

* * *

Let me tell you, whoever said reminiscing about the good times makes you miss someone less didn't know what they were talking about. Doesn't that make you miss them more? For me, it does. Wouldn't the bad memories make you grateful they were gone? With Mr. Miyagi, they didn't. Despite the good, the bad, and the ugly, I'm gonna miss him all the same.

* * *

"Honey, I'm home!" I closed the front door. Gee, did I sound like the husband on a generic fifties sitcom or what?

"In here!" Kumiko yelled back.

I dropped my keys on the table and duffel on the floor, drifting into into the kitchen.

"Mmm...Mac n cheese!" Not frozen, but homemade; still bubbling, and slightly burnt - the ideal end to a long day at the dojo. My stomach growled and I started salivating like Pavlov's dog as my wife extracted a pan from the oven and set it on the stove. "You really do know how to make a man happy." I kissed her cheek.

"That's why we're still together after all these years. How was your day?" Kumiko plucked off her mitts to grab plates.

"Oh, you know, the usual." I snagged a Coke from the fridge, popped it open, and sipped. "I gotta say, these kids are brutal. I'm getting too old for this. I'm their instructor, not their punching bag." I sighed in relief as I plunked down into a chair.

Kumiko slid a piping hot plate toward me, laughing. "You're not old...you just push yourself too hard."

"Yeah, maybe. Thanks." I took another swig of soda and dug in, too hungry to care the food scorched my tongue and throat on its way down.

Chair legs rasped against linoleum as Kumiko dragged it out from under the table and sat with a salad. "Actually," she said, a mischievous grin crinkling the skin around her eyes, "I take that back. I think I see a few gray hairs…" She lunged across the table and I ducked, swatting her hand.

"Hey! Quit it!"

"Okay, okay. I'll show you mercy." She settled into her chair, stabbing a cherry tomato she didn't eat, but contemplated, like it held the answer to everything. I set down my cutlery, calling a truce with dinner.

"What's wrong?"

Her forehead crumpled, and the corners of her mouth sagged. "Aunt Yukie called."

"Oh, yeah? How is she and Mr. Miyagi?"

"Yukie is fine, but Mr. Miyagi…" She looked away, gnawing her lip, and my heart plunged into my stomach.

I squeezed Kumiko's hand. "What is it, hon?"

Her almond eyes brimmed with tears. "He's very sick," she said, and her breath hitched. "Stomach cancer. She wants you to come as soon as you can."

My jaw hit the floor. "Cancer? Oh, man." I fell back into my chair, rubbing my forehead - a futile attempt to smooth the worry lines Kumiko put there. "I don't understand. I thought he was doing well."

"I know, Daniel. At one point he was keeping up with his chemo treatments and radiation, but it just became too much. You know what those drugs do to you. They made Mr. Miyagi feel so sick, he just couldn't do it anymore. The cancer spread to his lungs, liver, and brain. He has been refusing food or drink for days...His prognosis is very poor." She ran her thumb along the ridge of my calloused knuckles. "I'm so sorry, Daniel."

"Talk about sudden." Grief evaporated in my rage. "I mean, why didn't he tell me?" I shot out of my chair and started pacing, mind and heart racing. _I would've never thought..._

"He probably didn't want you to worry."

There was no _probably_. He was preserving my quote unquote emotional well-being, and it hurt to know he felt he needed to. I nodded, sick to my stomach, mind reeling and throat burning as dinner threatened to make an encore.

"Did you know, Kumiko?"

Tears started to fall. "Yukie asked me not to tell you. I'm sorry," she said again. "I should have told you. Then we could have visited him, when he was stronger..."

I pulled her into my arms and tucked her head under my chin. "It's not your fault. You were only trying to protect me."

Kumiko looked up at me with a frown. "Don't you want to finish your dinner?"

My stomach lurched at the suggestion. "No, thanks." The news had killed my appetite; not even mac n cheese could revive it. "I need to book us the earliest flight to California."

* * *

The cab hurtled down the road. Yukie never learned to drive, so while I had hailed a taxi, Kumiko called her aunt to let her know we were on our way.

Her fingers brushed my arm. "Sorry," she said when I jumped. "You okay?"

I clutched her hand. "Yeah, fine." I perked up as we passed the beach. "Hey, Kumiko - remember this? Mr. Miyagi and I trained here." She peered outside, grinning at the children frolicking in the waves while their parents soaked up some sun, savoring summer before the brisk autumn wind drove them off until next year.

"I do. It's very beautiful. Always has been."

I remembered all the times Mr. Miyagi and I meditated and practiced katas; warm sand gushing between our toes; the sun sinking into the horizon; waves roaring in our ears. I never felt more at peace here, with him, on that beach. Man, those were good times. Why did I ever leave?

The cab swung into the driveway, where the buffed hoods and chrome bumpers of his vintage cars had lost their luster to dirt, dust, and grime. I frowned; Mr. Miyagi never allowed so much as a speck on them. Memories of 'wax on, wax off,' sore arms, and a canary yellow car - my sixteenth birthday present - bombarded me.

My vision got blurry, and I blinked.

"Highway robbery," I muttered, shelling out a twenty the cabbie crumpled into his fist with a gruff "Thanks" before helping Kumiko and I unload luggage. I bound the wad of cash with a rubber band and crammed it into the pocket of my windbreaker. Pebbles pinged the taxi's undercarriage as it drove off in a billow of dust, sand, and grit. I rubbed my stinging eyes. _Stupid dirt._ When it cleared, the front door had opened.

"Yukie!" I waved at her as Kumiko and I lugged our bags into the foyer. "How ya doing?" I hugged her but didn't squeeze too hard; she'd break if not handled with care. Time had been kind to Yukie, who exuded the same quiet beauty as her niece.

Her smile was melancholy. "Okay, Daniel-San. I'm so sorry for not telling you earlier. I feel horrible about it! But Miyagi...he did not want me..." The words stumbled over each other in their haste to get out. She'd burst into tears if she kept talking; she wisely chose not to, 'cause we'd all drown if she hadn't.

"It's not your fault, Yukie. I know where you're coming from."

She nodded, and, after introducing us to Sally the hospice nurse, excused herself to check on Mr. Miyagi. When Kumiko's aunt returned on the brink of tears a minute later, dread settled in the pit of my stomach, cold, hard, and heavy.

"Go," she said. "You got here just in time."

A lump lodged in my throat. "Okay."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Kumiko asked.

"No. I'll be fine." _I hope._

My wife frowned but didn't object, to my relief and dismay. "I'll be here if you need me."

I didn't want to go, but knew Mr. Miyagi wanted me by his side. I hovered outside his room long after reaching it, searching deep within myself for the courage that wasn't there. Wiping my palms on my jeans, I sucked in a breath and entered without another thought.

"Mr. Miyagi?" I took one step, then another, until I loomed over him. " _Damn."_ He must've lost at least sixty pounds, maybe more. Mr. Miyagi didn't have much hair to begin with, but I hardly recognized him with his bald scalp and sallow skin stretched taut across his skull, tethered to an oxygen concentrator that hissed and bubbled beside the bed. He stared vacuously ahead, more through than at me, until recognition sparked in his rheumy eyes.

"Daniel...San." My name broke past his lips.

I groped for the back of a chair and collapsed into it, taking ahold of his withered hands. "Why?"

"Did not…" Each breath was a battle won. I pitched forward, clinging to his every word, fearing the next would be his last. "Want...you...to worry..."

I sniffed. "You could've told me, you know. You're not a burden. You never were. Heck, it was more like the other way around." He saved my ass more than I'd care to admit.

"Daniel...san...never burden." His cough rattled like wet gravel, which scared me real bad. I rose halfway outta the chair to get Sally when he motioned for me to sit back down.

"Miyagi...fine," he insisted. "How...school?"

I chuckled. "Oh, Mr. Miyagi, it's going great. It has grown so much since I started." Daniel's Karate School was a refuge for the inner city youth - most of them angry at the world, seeking karate as a means of reprisal. But I always emphasized the purpose of karate wasn't to fight, but _not_ fight, which Mr. Miyagi instilled in me. "How's the bonsai shop?"

His head bobbed in approval. "Very good. Daniel-San...Bonsai shop...closed...now." He paused. "You...like son...Miyagi never...had." His eyes glowed with pride, and a tear slid down my cheek. The night I learned Mr. Miyagi had lost a wife and son during childbirth was the first and last time I saw him drunk. Even now, it still haunts me. "Miyagi...very proud...of you. Want you...to have...house...cars."

"Don't say that, Mr. Miyagi." This couldn't be the end. Not now.

"Miyagi must. You...be in Newark and...Miyagi in Reseda...yet we see...each other again. Now Miyagi...be in heaven...and you...on Earth yet...we see...each other...again."

"Mr. Miyagi, no…" Tears gushed out my eyes.

He sighed; his eyelids fluttered closed. One part of me wished he'd take another breath; the other hoped he wouldn't. His hand grew limp as life receded from it like embers of a dying fire. I let it slide outta mine and onto his chest.

"Mr. Miyagi?"

Nothing.

"Mr. Miyagi, Mr. Miyagi…" I recited his name like a mantra, but he didn't stir.

Time to surrender.

I dropped my head onto his chest and completely lost it. Yukie and Kumiko burst into the room, rocking me in their arms while Sally offered tissues and condolences.

"He's in a better place now. It's okay…It's okay..." Kumiko's voice wavered in my ear. I shook my head. _It wasn't gonna be okay_ , I wanted to scream, _not with Mr. Miyagi gone_. He gave me everything my father couldn't. _Keep it together, Daniel_ …But the more I tried, the harder I cried, and I didn't stop until grief wrung every last drop outta me.

Mr. Miyagi was eighty-nine years old. Gone far too soon, if you ask me.

" _He's in a better place now."_ Kumiko had said on the flight to Newark; I smiled fondly in remembrance.

Mr. Miyagi's parting words resonated with me; I'll never forget them. " _...You be in Newark and Miyagi in Reseda yet we see each other again. Now Miyagi be in heaven and you on Earth yet we see each other again."_

There were a lot of things I didn't know, except:

 _Yes, Mr. Miyagi. We'll see each other again._

 _The End_

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading!


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